


Flight Risk

by prettylittlemess



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlemess/pseuds/prettylittlemess
Summary: In a dystopian future, “owners” are brainwashed to obey the fascist government and “debtors” are imprisoned or enslaved. Andy, an owner, manages to evade the brainwashing procedure, but she’s terrified that if anyone finds out she will be brainwashed for real. Then a guard arrives with Miranda, her new personal slave. The Devil Wears Prada AU.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly & Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 31
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Lily and the Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/750438) by [Telanu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanu/pseuds/Telanu). 



> The premise was inspired by Lily and the Crown by Telanu (I love you Telanu!) but the story is different.

Andy saved her brain from the fascists by jumping the line. 

It was really the dumbest plan, a move she once executed in middle school gym class to evade the pull-up bar. Just skip ahead to the next station. And yet, it worked.

One at a time, members of the new ruling class were ushered into a pod-like chamber for a cutting-edge, 22nd century brainwashing procedure. When it was complete, the recipients were hardwired to loathe all “debtors” and to adore The Regime. 

Andy watched from her place in line as the victims emerged with vacant eyes and stumbled ahead to receive the forehead implant that would mark them as “owners.” The privileged ones. If losing your mind could be considered a privilege.

She was fucking terrified. These were her last moments as herself, as Andrea Sachs who had opposed The Regime from the beginning. As a journalist, she had written articles imploring her fellow citizens to resist, until there were no more news outlets. No more internet. No more journalists. And now her fate was certain unless… unless she could think of something.

She told the guard she had to pee.

He scowled at her, his eyes cold and cruel. The pyramid-shaped ruby—part gemstone, part intricate, man-made structure—jutted out of his forehead like a horn. “You already used the facilities. Everyone did, less than an hour ago.”

“Right. I know, but… I just got my period.” Andy affected her best impression of wide-eyed, lash-batting innocence. “I can feel the blood gushing between my legs, and I’m afraid I’m going to bleed all over the chamber. So if I could just stuff some toilet paper in my panties...”

He wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust. Encouraged by this, Andy leaned in and whispered, “I have a really heavy flow.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He pointed to a door up ahead, just past the chamber. “It’s over there. Come right back.”

Andy didn’t come right back. She checked every inch of the restroom for an escape route. An air vent, a loose brick, anything. Finding none, she had only one move left.

She peeked out of the restroom, waiting until the guard’s head was turned. Then, she strode past the chamber and joined the small group of dazed individuals waiting for their implants, doing her best to look like her brain had just been microwaved to all oblivion.

No one suspected a thing. When her turn came, a different guard led her behind a curtain to something that resembled a dentist’s chair, with surgical contraptions hanging overhead.

“This won’t hurt,” said the doctor. “Just lie back and relax.”

Andy complied, praying he wouldn’t notice that she was trembling.

“Close your eyes. This is just the anesthetic.”

There was a hissing sound as a warm mist hit her skin. Then she couldn’t feel anything.

After a few minutes, the doctor tapped her shoulder. “All done.”

Andy opened her eyes to find him holding up a mirror. There it was, smack in the middle of her forehead: A gleaming ruby pyramid with smooth edges and a complex inner structure that couldn’t be counterfeited. The mark of an owner.

She forced a smile. “It looks great. What, um… what am I supposed to do now?”

As soon as she said it, panic gripped her. Was that information included in the brainwashing? Was she giving herself away? If she fucked up even once, she’d be dragged back to the chamber and brainwashed for real.

But the doctor gave her a kind smile in return. “You’re one of us. You can do whatever you like. However, the procedure is very draining. Most prefer to go home and rest.”

“Right. I’ll do that.” Home. Thank God. She wanted to hide there forever.

“The Regime will be in contact with your slave, and any assignments they have for you.” 

Slave? Assignments? Crap. Even as a member of the privileged class, one who had supposedly sacrificed her entire mind to The Regime, she wouldn’t be left alone.

“Well, goodbye. Thanks again.” Andy hurried to her feet and headed for the exit. The guards nodded to her as she pushed through the door. 

Outside, warm spring air washed over her. She had pulled off a miracle. Somehow, she was leaving the facility with her brain intact, and no one had a clue.

Andy touched the stone on her forehead. She looked just like them now. A fascist zombie. Thank God it was only cosmetic.

But how long could she impersonate an owner, someone who had been programmed to obey The Regime and to hate everyone else?

She had to try. She’d rather die than let them turn her into a monster. And that meant she couldn’t slip up. Not ever, not even a little. Not until she could find some way out. Her life depended on it.


	2. Chapter 2

A year ago, Miranda had been the exalted chief editor of the largest fashion publication in the US. Now she was locked in a cage, staring at a plate of putrid, mushy slop that had been shoved through the slot as her morning meal.

For a week, she had thrown each and every plate against the wall. She had grown weaker and much thinner than the size 2 she’d been at the beginning—knowing it was futile, that no one would clean it and no one cared, but unable to have any other reaction to the infuriating indignity of her situation.

But the delirium of sustained hunger had brought her a certain clarity. And then one day, she resolved to fight. She didn’t know how, exactly. But no one locked up Miranda Priestly without consequences. And to administer said consequences, she needed to be alive.

So she’d begun to eat. But each day she had to work up to it, summoning her resolve before she could scoop the vile substance with her fingers and force it into her mouth. Otherwise, she’d gag on the first bite.

She was about to start eating when a guard opened the door of her cell.

“Get up.” He was their typical thug, blond and bulky with hateful eyes.

She couldn’t stop herself. ”You didn’t say please.”

The guard responded by stomping into the cell and grabbing her arms with meaty hands, yanking her to her feet and dragging her out the door. Her shrieks echoed down the wide hallway as he flung her onto something like a gurney and forcibly strapped her in.

Then, a needle pierced her neck and it all went black.

***

Miranda regained consciousness in fragments, first becoming aware that she was in a moving vehicle of some kind.

She tried to move. It was then that she sensed the shackles on her ankles and wrists. And there was something else—a collar around her neck.

She couldn’t see a damn thing. Her eyes were unobstructed, but she was trapped in a compartment with no windows and no lights.

Eventually, the vehicle stopped, and a door opened, causing blinding light to flood the compartment. The same guard from earlier clicked open the belts that bound her to the seat and dragged her out into the open air.

She hadn’t been outside for months. Sunlight pierced her eyes, painful yet... beautiful. The air tasted fresh. Not like the dusty, stagnant air she’d existed in since she was captured.

As her eyes adjusted, Miranda realized she was standing in the driveway of a small house, with gray siding and a manicured lawn. Then the guard was shoving her forward, toward the front entrance, as her feet struggled to keep up. He parked her on the front porch and banged on the door.

The door opened, revealing a young woman with long, brown hair. She wore a simple blue dress, too big for her size 6 frame. The gleaming implant on her forehead left no doubt that she was one of them, an owner. A brainwashed disciple of The Regime. 

The woman looked between Miranda and the guard, her brown eyes round and alarmed.

“Andrea Sachs?” said the guard. At her meek nod he said bluntly, “This is your slave.”

“My… my…”

Emotion tumbled across the woman’s face. Shock, panic… horror? 

Clearly, she didn’t want Miranda. She probably wanted someone bigger, stronger, and younger to be her personal slave. Miranda wondered if she would be sent away, back to her cage. At this point, she didn’t know if that would be better or worse.

But then Andrea squared her shoulders and said, “Oh, of course. Please come in.”

The guard gripped Miranda’s arm and dragged her over the threshold. Then she found herself in the entryway of a modest house with cheap furniture and a fair amount of visible clutter. This was the home of an owner?

“Have you had the orientation?” asked the guard.

“I…um...” Andrea hesitated.

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “They were supposed to come here first but this keeps happening. Well look, it isn’t hard. You wear this on your wrist at all times.” He handed her an electronic bracelet with a panel of buttons. Andrea obediently snapped it onto her wrist.

Then he pointed at one of the buttons. “This one administers the shocks. You hold it down to change the intensity. Here, give it a try. It only works with your fingerprint.”

For a moment, Miranda thought she saw indecision in the young woman’s eyes. The guard frowned at her hesitation.

Then, quickly, Andrea touched the panel. The collar on Miranda’s neck sent a searing electric shock through her body. Miranda fell to her knees, gasping in pain. “Fuck!”

“Get up bitch.” The guard hauled her to her feet and fixed his beady eyes on her. “That wasn’t even a big one. You can expect much worse if you give her any trouble. Right?” He looked at Andrea expectantly.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Andrea’s voice was confident, and the uncertainty that had been in her eyes was replaced by stern expression.

The guard smirked. “Keep her chained up when you’re not using her. Overnight, obviously, and during the day when she’s not supervised. Do you have a suitable location?”

“A… location? You mean for her to sleep?” 

He sighed. “Right, you didn’t get the orientation. Most people keep them in the basement. Do you have one?”

“Well, yes. But I’m not sure it’s suitable.”

“Let’s see it.”

Andrea led the way to the back of the house and opened a door, revealing a staircase. Then she looked down at the shackles on Miranda’s ankles. “I don’t know if she…” 

The guard waved his hand. “Just unlock them. She isn’t going anywhere. See, just put your fingerprint there. Your index finger.”

Andrea knelt down to touch the shackles, and in an instant they snapped open, freeing Miranda’s ankles. When Andrea stood up, she averted her eyes.

They made their way down to the basement. It was cold and dark, with a cement floor and visible cobwebs in the corners.

The guard surveyed the room. “There.” He pointed to an exposed fuel pipe on the far wall, only inches above the floor. “That should do.”

Andrea’s brow creased. “But what about…I mean there’s no access to a bathroom.”

“Just leave a bucket. You can make her clean it. So we’ll chain her up here?”

After a pause, Andrea said, “Okay.”

The guard squeezed Miranda’s arm, bruising her, and pulled her over to the pipe. “Open the cuffs,” he instructed. Andrea did.

He shoved Miranda to the ground. Her knees stung as they smacked against the hard cement. Then the guard snapped one of the handcuffs on the pipe, and the other on her wrist. “Just like that. Home sweet home.”

The floor was freezing. “Fuck,” Miranda said again. “You can’t be serious.” 

The guard’s head whipped around. “Shock her for that,” he told Andrea.

Andrea swayed for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know.”

He looked at her sharply. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” Andrea touched her wristband.

The zap came, and Miranda gasped. But the shock was shorter this time, and less intense.

“Good.” The guard nodded at Andrea. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you the rest of the buttons.”

Andrea glanced back, and Miranda could have sworn she saw a flicker of empathy. But of course that was impossible. As an owner, she’d had all of the humanity sucked out of her when they reprogrammed her brain.

Andrea looked away and followed the guard up the stairs, leaving Miranda alone in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Andy’s fake smile collapsed as she closed her front door. She leaned against it, catching her breath. “Holy shit.”

The afternoon had been a minefield, as she’d struggled to say the right things and make the right faces in front of the guard. Meanwhile, her gut had twisted and churned, as Andy’s horror at the situation mixed with terror that she was about to be found out.

She had survived the encounter, thanks to her mediocre acting skills and a dense, oblivious guard. But now there was a live, human woman chained up in her basement. And she was supposed to…what? Force her to do chores? Shock and beat her into submission?

As an owner, Andy was supposed to hate the woman based on her status as a debtor. That’s how The Regime had taken over in the first place, by spreading fear and hate toward the majority of the population until the favored class began to view them as subhuman, as scum. Worse than animals.

A good portion of the population bought into it based on the propaganda alone. But others went along out of fear, and others—like Andy—had fought back. Hence the mandatory brainwashing, to ensure they would never question the subjugation of their fellow human beings.

She was supposed to be one of those brainwashed owners. And she had to act like one until she escaped, or until the resistance prevailed. Until then, one mistake could give her away.

So what the fuck was she supposed to do with the woman in her basement?

Well, she couldn’t leave her chained to the pipe. That much was clear to her. Spending the night there would be literal torture, and Andy couldn’t live with herself if she allowed that to happen on her watch. She was not a fascist, and she wouldn’t become one to save herself.

So Andy would let her out of the basement...but then what? Would the woman try to kill her? If she did, Andy wouldn’t blame her one bit.

The obvious move was to tell her the truth. Look, I’m not really one of them. I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.

But that plan came with a couple of big risks. First, that the woman wouldn’t believe her. Why should she? Andy had already shocked her twice. The second time, she had tried so hard to barely graze the button but clearly it had still hurt. She had already established herself as one of the bad guys, brainwashed or not.

If Andy let her out of the basement and proposed that they hide out together as roommates, the woman might play along...but she certainly wouldn’t trust Andy. Surely, she would try to escape. But getting out of the city—hell, the neighborhood—would be impossible. Guards were everywhere. A runaway wouldn’t make it two blocks.

If the woman escaped, she would be caught. No question. She’d be captured, probably killed. Then the guards would come looking for Andy. An incident like that would call attention to her in the worst possible way.

Andy sat down on the couch and willed herself to think. She couldn’t tell the woman the truth. Not yet, not until she had a sense of how she might react. Which meant she had to act like a brainwashed owner with her own personal slave. It made her want to vomit.

But maybe she could be benevolent. Let her out of the basement, give her a proper dinner, and keep her confined but otherwise unharmed. That was something. That would give her time to figure out what the hell to do.

Andy took a deep breath. She stood up and headed for the basement.

***

Andy turned on the light and made her way down the stairs. The woman was sitting on the floor, cross-legged and motionless. Her silvery white hair fell around her face in limp, dirty strands, and she wore a drab khaki slave uniform with a visible stain. She probably hadn’t had a proper shower in some time.

The guard had said something about showers. Andy tried to remember. She had been so focused on acting her part that she had only half listened to the instructions. Something about forcing the woman to hose herself off when she started to smell. Well, none of that was going to happen.

Andy stopped a few feet in front of the woman. “Hi.”

The woman looked up. Her hazel eyes were hard and sharp as steel.

“I’d like you to come upstairs.” Did that sound authoritative enough? Apparently not, because the woman didn’t react.

“You’re going to come with me,” Andy tried again. “I’m going to unlock the handcuffs, and we’ll go upstairs.”

The woman looked at her like she was the stupidest person on Earth. Again, she said nothing. Just do it, Andy told herself. You’re supposed to be in charge.

Andy knelt down and touched her index finger to the panel on the cuffs. They sprung open.

“I’m not going to put them back on,” Andy said. “But please don’t—I mean, it wouldn’t be wise to try something.” She hoped she sounded stern.

The woman glared. “You’re not taking this off, are you?” She indicated the collar.

“No.” Andy didn’t even know if it was possible to remove a slave collar. She had been afraid to ask.

“Then it seems I am in chains whether I’m wearing them or not.”

“Right.” Andy was suddenly conscious of the weight of her bracelet. The guard had told her to leave it on all the time, even in the shower. Otherwise, she would be vulnerable to an attack.

No longer attached to the pipe, the woman slowly rose to her feet. Her body was lean, almost skeletal, and the movements appeared to be painful. But she never faltered. As they stood facing each other, Andy realized the woman was a bit shorter, maybe a couple of inches, in addition to being about twenty pounds lighter.

Andy gestured to the stairwell. “You go first.” It didn’t seem wise to walk in front of her on the steep, narrow staircase. As they ascended the stairs, Andy observed the woman from behind. She had a slim build with narrow shoulders, but there was strength in the way she carried herself.

Soon, they were standing in Andy’s kitchen.

Andy didn’t know what to do first. The poor woman’s basic needs had been neglected for months. She needed everything. Food, a shower, rest. Medical attention, probably, but that was one thing Andy couldn’t provide. God, she probably had to pee.

Andy decided the first stop would be the bathroom. “I’d like you to take a shower.”

For a split second, the hatred in the woman’s eyes was replaced with surprise before her gaze hardened again.

“There’s a bathroom down here,” Andy said. “Over this way.” She led the way, and the woman followed.

“You can put your…uniform… on the floor. We’ll add it to the laundry. I’ll leave clean clothes on the sink. And I’m pretty sure I have a towel down here.” Andy opened the cabinets and retrieved a folded bath towel. “Here. You can use whatever soap and shampoo you find, and I’ll bring a spare toothbrush with the clothes. Oh, and you can use the toilet. Obviously.”

An eyebrow arched. “No bucket?” 

Andy shook her head. “No, we’re not… there’s not going to be a bucket. Please use the toilet.”

“All right.” Now the woman was searching Andy’s eyes with her penetrating gaze. It made her shiver.

“I...I’ll be back with the clothes.” Andy hurried out of the small bathroom, afraid of what the woman would see if she stayed another moment. She hoped she wasn’t already giving herself away.


	4. Chapter 4

Miranda stood in the shower, taking slow, deep breaths as hot water poured over her aching body. It was bliss.

In prison, they had shoved her into a small stall and doused her with chemicals every few days. Left alone in Andrea’s bathroom, she had looked into a mirror for the first time in months and had been horrified at the gaunt, filthy woman who stared back at her.

In another lifetime, she never even left the house without immaculate hair and a full face of makeup. But now…

She rubbed shampoo into her scalp. It smelled like roses. She still couldn’t believe she had been left unsupervised in a fully stocked shower. She still didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Andrea wasn’t like the guards, who looked at her with instinctive and unwavering contempt. There was something about her… she looked anxious and confused. Perhaps she had been a dim-witted woman before the brainwashing, and was now struggling to function with her reprogrammed brain. Miranda could use that to her advantage once she got her bearings, once she figured out—

The bathroom door creaked open. Andrea stepped into the bathroom and quickly stepped out again, closing the door behind her.

Miranda peeked through the shower curtain. Folded clothing and a toothbrush had been placed on the sink.

Why was Andrea doing this? Why did she care if Miranda had clean teeth? Certainly none of her captors had cared up til now. Maybe Andrea just didn’t want to smell bad breath.

She couldn’t be treating Miranda with actual kindness. It was impossible. The ruby implant on her forehead made that clear. Brainwashed owners had no compassion left. The Regime had seen to that.

***

Miranda emerged from the bathroom in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt that hung off her frame. Something smelled incredible.

It was food. She smelled actual food. It couldn’t be for her, could it? Debtors didn’t get real food. Andrea was probably going to fill a dish with slop that a dog wouldn’t touch and set it on the floor. Maybe it was already waiting for her in the basement.

But even just to smell it. Her feet carried her to the kitchen before she knew what she was doing.

Andrea was at the counter, slicing an apple with a long silver knife. She looked up. “Oh, you’re done. You can…I mean...um, I’d like you to sit at the kitchen table.”

Was this woman completely dense? She seemed to struggle with issuing basic commands. Miranda sat down.

Then Andrea said, “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

Did… did she have dietary restrictions? What the living fuck?

Miranda couldn’t hold back. “What’s going on?”

Andrea looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“Is this some kind of trick? You’re an owner. You don’t care about my dietary…anything. Why are you asking?”

Andrea’s posture stiffened. “Of course I don’t care. I just—I don’t want you to have an allergy attack and die. Because you won’t be any use to me dead. That’s the only reason.”

“And you’re going to give me actual food?”

“I don’t have anything else.”

Food. She was going to eat food after being so hungry for so long. In that moment nothing else mattered. She wasn’t going to screw it up by antagonizing Andrea.

“I don’t have any dietary restrictions.”


	5. Chapter 5

Andy placed two plates and a bowl of spaghetti on the table, along with the apple slices. Owners didn’t ask debtors what they wanted to drink—not without raising even more suspicion—so she served filtered water in glass tumblers.

Andy sat down on the other end of the table. “You can, um, go ahead.”

The woman’s hand trembled as she scooped spaghetti onto her plate. When she took her first bite, she sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment.

Andy wanted to ask if it tasted all right, but she wasn’t supposed to care. Instead she asked, “What is your name?”

The woman held out her arm, revealing the number that had been forcibly tattooed there. 4127187.

Right. Debtors didn’t have names. But for some reason, Andy couldn’t accept this, not even for the sake of her cover. She had to know. “What was your name before?”

The woman’s fork froze in mid-air. “We get beaten if we use our names. You know that as well as anyone. Or are you just asking so you can shock me?”

“It’s not a trick,” Andy said. “I just want to know. No shocks. I swear.”

The woman twisted noodles around her fork then said, her voice almost inaudible, “Miranda.” For a split second, the mask seemed to drop. Then she glared at Andy, as if waiting for her to break her word.

“Miranda,” Andy repeated. There was something familiar about the name paired with the face. A memory popped into her mind. “Miranda Priestly?”

Miranda’s stunned expression told her that she was correct. The bruised, hungry, exhausted woman at Andy’s kitchen table had been the editor-in-chief of FashionHub, back when there was such a thing. She had been a self-made, ball-busting woman in charge, rising through the ranks to assume leadership just before The Regime took over and shuttered all independent publications.

“I was a journalist too,” Andy blurted. “I learned about you in journalism school.”

Miranda didn’t seem to know what to do with this information. For a moment she seemed to be expecting a shock or some other punishment just for being who she was. But when Andy did nothing, her posture relaxed slightly. “Well.”

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, until their plates and glasses were empty. Then they just sat there, avoiding each other’s eyes.

What would a brainwashed owner do now? Andy supposed they would order Miranda to clear the table and wash the dishes, then chain her to the pipe until morning.

But that wasn’t an option. Even asking Miranda to help her with the dishes felt wrong. Andy couldn’t imagine what she’d been through in one of those debtor prisons. Miranda needed rest.

Andy thought of her small guest room. Miranda could sleep there, on the futon. That made the most sense. But how would she explain it?

She tried to sound authoritative. “It’s time to go to your room.”

“My what? You mean the basement?”

“No. You’re not going to sleep in the basement.” Andy took a deep breath. “That was the guard’s idea, but I have my own preferences. You’re going to sleep in a room upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Miranda warily followed Andy upstairs. Andy opened the door to the guest room and pointed to the floral-print futon. “You’ll sleep there.”

“I will? But...why?” Miranda scanned the room. Then hazel eyes bore into Andy. “Why would you let me sleep here? What’s the catch?”

Andy fidgeted under the scrutiny. You’re supposed to be in charge, she reminded herself. “I’m not going to explain my reasons. You’ll sleep here.”

Andy opened the small closet and pulled out the spare pillow and blankets that she’d kept there for guests, in what felt like another lifetime. She set them on the futon in front of an astonished Miranda. Then she pointed at the other door, “There’s a restroom through there. And don’t try to leave the suite because… because I’m going to chain the door. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before Miranda could say another word, she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Should she actually lock Miranda in? Maybe the threat was enough to keep her from trying the doorknob.

Andy shook her head. If she didn’t take precautions, there was a good chance the woman would try to escape. Who wouldn’t? But she didn’t have any chains.

After thinking for a moment, Andy retrieved a kitchen chair and shoved it under the knob. There. Long term, she doubted it would be enough to contain Miranda, but it should work for one night at least.


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda awoke aching all over, but in a good way. It was the ache of relief, of abused muscles and bones decompressing for the first time in ages as she spent the night on an actual mattress.

As a fashion executive, she would have fired everyone in sight before she consented to be put up on a “futon.” Now, it was heaven. She still didn’t know what the fuck was happening, or why. But mother of God, she’d take it. 

The intensity of the sunlight streaming through the small window suggested it was mid-morning. Why hadn’t Andrea come to wake her? 

Her stomach gurgled. Apparently, after last night’s meal, her body had begun to crave food again. She wondered if there would be more spaghetti today, or if Andrea would give her slop from now on.

Miranda got out of bed, used the bathroom, and hesitantly tried the door. It opened. There was a kitchen chair next to the door in the hallway. Was that how Andrea had locked her in overnight? A chair? This woman was an absolute amateur.

She walked downstairs and found Andrea seated on the couch in loungewear, clutching a mug. When she turned to look at Miranda, the ruby implant sparkled in the sunlight.

“G… You’re awake,” Andrea said. Had she been about to say good morning?

“I am.” Miranda stood before her.

“I left some food on the table kitchen. Some eggs, biscuits and another apple. There’s filtered water in the fridge.”

A real breakfast. Before Andrea could change her mind, Miranda strode past her to the kitchen. The food had been arranged neatly on a plate as though Miranda were a guest. Baffled, she sat down and ate hungrily. The food was cold, and in her former life that would have been unacceptable. Now, every bite was glorious.

When she finished, she took her plate to the sink. Andrea hadn’t told her to clean up. In fact, her supposed mistress had done the dishes herself the previous night. But she supposed that as long as she was being treated like a houseguest, she should be a good one and wash her own plate.

With the dishes done, Miranda went back to the living room. Andrea hadn’t moved from the couch. She had set the mug down, and was now sitting with her legs crossed, looking pensive. “Finished?” 

“Yes.” They looked at each other. Finally Miranda asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

Andrea looked like she didn’t know either. Then she said, “Nothing for now.”

“Nothing?” Not that she was eager to be put to work, but this was maddening. She just wanted to understand her situation so that she could process and deal with it, but Andrea’s treatment of her made no sense. Certainly not for an owner, which all else aside, she was—as the ruby constantly reminded her.

“Just stay here,” said Andrea. “In the house.”

Miranda couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s going on?”

Andrea frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m supposed to be your slave. Yet, you’ve given me meals and a bed, and a proper shower. Now you don’t want me to work. I’m not complaining, but I want to understand.”

Andrea’s eyes widened, and all of a sudden she looked… afraid? But why?

Andrea pulled a pillow into her lap and held it defensively. Then she said, “I have a big project for you to work on, but I need you to be healthy before you can do it. So right now, I just want you to eat and rest. Not because I care or anything. I mean, it’s just so you can work on the project. You won’t be able to do it if you’re weak and malnourished.”

“And may I ask,” said Miranda, “what this project is?”

Andrea shifted. “No. Because you don’t need to know until...until it’s time to start working on it.”

Jesus Christ. There was no project. This woman didn’t have the faintest clue what to do with Miranda, so she was just feeding and housing her until she could think of something. 

“So you want me to...what? Stay in my room?”

“Yeah,” said Andrea. “Sure. Um...you can read.” She pointed to the bookshelves against the wall.

Miranda hadn’t been allowed to read anything since her capture. She scanned the titles. Pedestrian novels, mostly. Then again, most nonfiction books were banned. She pulled a few off the shelves. “I’ll just… go to my room then.”

“Good.” Andrea looked relieved.

Walking back up the stairs, Miranda wondered how this could happen. She supposed it was natural that some owners were inept—after all, they had been chosen based on privilege, not because of intelligence or skill. 

But it still didn’t explain the lack of cruel treatment. Every owner she’d met since the takeover had treated her like utter scum, like a worthless abomination who deserved to suffer. The Regime had brainwashing down to a science, and the result was always the same. Or was it? Had there been some kind of glitch?

Whatever the reason, Miranda was grateful. But she knew better than to let her guard down. Andrea might not be as bad as the others, but she had shocked her twice already. Miranda had no power here, and the temporary comforts could be taken away at any time.


	7. Chapter 7

For a week, it was the same. Andy prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and Miranda spent the rest of the day in her room, reading or sleeping or doing nothing at all. 

Miranda showered daily, and Andy gave her t-shirts and sweatpants to wear around the house. The prisoner uniform was washed and folded, but Andy couldn’t bring herself to ask Miranda to put it back on. Now that she knew that the woman was Miranda Priestly, she imagined that Andy’s oversized sweats were appalling enough.

The Regime left them alone. There were no visitors, no assignments. They simply existed in the house, wasting away the days. Andy did a few chores—she still couldn’t bring herself to ask Miranda for help—and otherwise she read or slept or knitted.

But now there was a problem. They were almost out of food. Andy was down to just a couple pieces of fruit, canned food, and some stale cereal. She had to go to the grocery depot. But then what was she supposed to do with Miranda?

She had treated Miranda as humanely as she could without admitting the truth, but Andy had no illusions that Miranda wanted to stay with her. If she left her alone in the house, Miranda would surely try to flee.

She could use the chair to barricade the door, as she did at night, but it was hardly a secure system. The chair didn’t quite fit properly, and she wasn’t about to stake her brain and their lives on it holding up. In fact, she slept with her bedroom door open so that she could hear the crash if Miranda broke out.

Andy decided she had two options. She could chain Miranda to the pipe, ensuring that escape was impossible. Or she could bring Miranda with her.

She had seen other owners out in public with their slaves, and it was terrible. Just a couple of weeks ago, in fact, she’d seen an owner ordering his slave around in the grocery depot. He had shocked the poor woman when she brought back oranges that weren’t up to his standards. The woman fell to the ground screaming while the other shoppers acted like nothing was happening.

Still, most slaves she’d seen in public had been beaten to the point where incidents were rare. They trudged beside their owners with eyes downcast, following instructions without complaint. Would Miranda do the same? Enough that nobody would suspect Andy hadn’t actually been abusing her? She wasn’t sure. It was hard to imagine Miranda behaving submissively.

But the pipe...she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live with herself, chaining another human being in her basement. Especially after spending time with Miranda and observing her inner strength and elegance. The very thought of locking her in the basement made Andy want to cry.

So the choice was clear. They would go out together.

Andy retrieved the clean uniform and went to Miranda’s room. Miranda was reclining on the futon, a book open in her lap.

“Hi,” said Andy. “We need to go out for food, so…” she held out the uniform. “I need you to put this on and meet me downstairs, please.” The word please escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Oh well.

Miranda looked startled by this, but she didn’t argue. Andy went downstairs to wait.

A few minutes later, Miranda descended the stairs. The uniform wasn’t as loose as Andy’s clothes, and Andy could see the delicate curves of Miranda’s body. She had a figure for fashion, even now when she had been deprived of nutrition and exercise.

Miranda’s expression had darkened, probably a visceral reaction to being back in the uniform. Or maybe she was dreading the trip, just like Andy.

In the car, Miranda kept turning her head to look out the window in both directions. Andy realized that Miranda had probably been in prison for some time; she hadn’t seen the outside world and how it had changed under Regime rule. The military presence was probably the most striking difference. Guards patrolled the streets, with huge guns strapped to their backs. Maybe the trip was a good thing. Maybe Miranda would realize there was no point in trying to escape.

They arrived at the grocery depot. Andy was relieved that the parking lot wasn’t crowded. Maybe they would get in and out without drawing any attention.

She started to open the car door, but Miranda said, “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“What am I supposed to do in there?” Miranda asked the question through gritted teeth, and Andy could tell it was hard for her. She was angry. She didn’t want to be told what to do. But she must have known the danger of slipping up in front of others, enough that she put her pride aside and asked.

“Just stay close to me,” Andy said. “Keep your head down and don’t say anything. I’ll do the shopping.”

Miranda gave her a terse nod, and they headed into the depot.

Some owners were browsing alone, while others had slaves at their sides, loading the shopping carts while the owners gave orders. It was absurd to watch. Asking someone else to pull a jar off the shelf took more time than just doing it, but owners would rather enjoy the power trip despite the inefficiency.

And they thought she was just like them. Why wouldn’t they? She had a ruby on her forehead and a slave at her side.

It all went fine until a distracted owner bumped into Miranda. He didn’t have a slave with him, so he was searching the shelves on his own. Miranda was standing perfectly still when he walked right into her.

“Bitch!” he sputtered. Then he said to Andy, “She tripped me.”

Miranda’s eyes shot daggers at him. Oh God. This couldn’t become a confrontation. “I’m very sorry,” Andy said to him, starting to pull Miranda away.

“Shock her!” the owner demanded.

Andy froze. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Well, obviously I would, but… I mean....”

He looked appalled. “What’s wrong with you? If you won’t punish her, I will.” 

Andy watched in horror as he shoved Miranda into the shelves with both hands. She fell to the ground as glass soda bottles tumbled from the shelves, some smacking her in the head before they shattered on the floor, spewing soda fizz everywhere. Then he reeled back and kicked her, hard, in her side. Miranda cried out in pain.

“Stop it!” Andy shrieked. “Stop it! She’s mine.”

“Well then you do it,” he snapped. “But she deserves a punishment.”

Andy’s mind raced. Oh god, oh god. This could be it. He knows. He knows and he’ll report me, and I’ll be brainwashed for real, and Miranda will end up with some jackass like this who will shock her and starve her and I can’t let it happen. I can’t.

Andy squared her jaw. “Yes, she deserves it. But I was going to shock her over there, away from the bottles, so that we didn’t get broken glass all over the floor. You just didn’t give me a chance, and now look. There’s soda on my clothes!”

Without waiting for a response, Andy grabbed Miranda and hauled her to her feet. Miranda’s face was contorted in pain, and her eyes were red and watering.

“Come on.” Andy led her out of the depot and straight to the car. She let her into the passenger seat, then got into the driver’s seat and promptly burst into tears.

“Oh my God.” Andrea gasped and shuddered as she sobbed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have brought you here. I never wanted you to get hurt. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Miranda clutched her side, still clearly in pain. But her eyes fixed on Andy like she was looking straight through her. Like she knew without a doubt that something was very wrong, and she wasn’t going to spend another minute in the dark. “Who are you?”

Andy attempted to collect herself. They had parked a good distance from the store, but she couldn’t risk being seen crying over her slave.

“I’m Andy Sachs,” she said, sniffling and swiping at her eyes. “But I’m not one of them. I mean I am, but I don’t want to be. And I can’t let them find out because...because they’ll turn me into a monster, like him. Like all of them.”

Miranda stared at her intently. “The brainwashing didn’t work on you,” she guessed.

“It didn’t happen,” Andy admitted. Relief washed over her as she finally said the truth out loud. “They think I’m brainwashed but I’m not.”

“Oh.” Miranda took a breath. “I see.” Then she rubbed her head where the bottles had landed.

“We need to go home,” Andy said. “Before he comes out and sees us.” She swallowed, composing herself. “I’ll explain when we get there.”


	8. Chapter 8

Miranda groaned as she stepped out of the car. Her side was badly bruised, and she probably had a concussion on top of it. Maybe that’s why, in her dazed and injured state, she had a feeling of relief after Andrea’s confession.

The puzzle of her confounding captor had been solved at last. That was part of it. But also, if Andrea still had her brain and her humanity, and Miranda belonged to her...that meant that for the first time in a year, she had some semblance of safety. Precarious as it was.

They went inside, and Andrea immediately pointed to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll get you some ice, and some water. Or do you want juice?”

Miranda felt nauseous. “Water is fine.”

Andrea returned bearing a glass of water and two ziplocks full of ice cubes, plus a kitchen towel. “Here you go. Would you like me to hold the ice in place? You could lie down.”

Miranda looked into her brown eyes and saw pure kindness. It had been there all along, she realized, while Andrea had tried to pretend she was a typical owner. But now that Miranda knew the truth, Andrea had dropped the pretense.

“I’m okay.” Miranda’s voice was hoarse. She sipped the water and held one of the ice bags to the top of her head, where a bump was already forming.

Andrea sat down beside her. “I never should have brought you with me. I was afraid if I left you here, you would escape, and… they’d capture you and figure me out.”

Miranda studied her. “If you were that concerned, why didn’t you use the chains?”

“Because I couldn’t.” Andrea’s voice cracked. “I just couldn’t do that to you again.”

“Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

“Okay.” Andrea nodded. “Okay. Um, I really am an owner. I mean, the whole thing is bullshit, but I’m related to London Hamil.”

“Related?”

“I’m his daughter.” Andrea blushed. “His illegitimate daughter. He had an affair with my mother, and he never told his wife the truth. But he took care of me. Financially. He paid all of my debt.”

“That’s why you’re an owner.”

“Right. But I’m not from that world. I grew up with normal people.”

“Debtors,” Miranda said.

“Yeah.” Andrea’s face crumpled. “I haven’t seen my friends and family since… since the Regime took over. I’m alone now. I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Miranda.

Andrea shook her head, pulling herself together. “I never supported this. I used to write articles opposing The Regime, actually, before they shut down the internet.”

“After that I was just hiding out at home, hoping the resistance would prevail and it would all be like a bad dream. Then the military showed up. They had guns, and they forced me to go with them to be re-programmed. Brainwashed. But I managed to trick the guards into thinking I already was brainwashed. So they gave me this”—she indicated her forehead implant—”and sent me home.”

Miranda couldn’t believe it was that simple. “You tricked them? What do you mean?”

“Um.” Andrea looked embarrassed. “I told them I had my period, so they’d let me go to the bathroom. Then I snuck into the other line, the one for people who had already been brainwashed.”

“Incredible.” 

“Since then, I’ve just been holed up here.” Andrea gestured at their surroundings. “There’s military everywhere, like you saw. And I’ve been scared to leave because I’m afraid that if I do or say the wrong thing…”

“They’ll know you’re not really one of them,” Miranda finished.

“Right. They’ll know I still have my brain.” Andrea looked at her sadly. “That’s why I went along with the guard when he brought you here. I still feel terrible about it. But I was so afraid...I had to act like I was okay with this.” She pointed to the collar on Miranda’s neck.

“I’m glad you did,” Miranda said softly. “I’m in a much better situation now. I knew it even before today.”

Andrea looked at her gratefully. “Thank you for saying that. But I really am so sorry.”

“I know.” But then another thought occurred to her. “But why didn’t you just tell me at the beginning? Why keep up the pretense even when we were alone? You never mistreated me, but you could have told me the truth.”

Andrea looked down at her hands. “I was just so terrified. I didn’t know how you’d react, if I could trust you.” Then she looked up. “But I trust you now. I mean, I know we don’t really know each other. But I just have this feeling.”

Miranda hadn’t felt connected to another human being in a long time. It was like a muscle she hadn’t moved. But it felt...acceptable. “You can trust me.”

“So how did you end up here, in this situation?” Andrea asked. “I didn’t really follow fashion, but I thought you had to come from a certain world… like, I would have assumed you were connected to one of the owner families.”

“No. I was born in debt. But I worked hard. I went to college, all on loans so of course that was even more debt. But I graduated at the top and networked my ass off. I got where I was on merit, on the quality of my work. And then one day, none of it mattered.”

“I’m so sorry,” Andrea said. “It feels hollow to say, but… I really am.” She tentatively reached for Miranda’s shoulder and rested her hand on it, just for a moment, then pulled it away.

God. Human touch that wasn’t abusive or accidental. It had been ages. “Thank you, Andrea.”

“So what do we do now?” Andrea asked in a small voice. After a week of trying to be in charge, she looked relieved to have someone to ask.

“Perhaps, now that I know, you can stop barricading my door at night?”

“Oh, of course.” She nodded vigorously. “If you...I mean, as long as you don’t escape, or do anything to draw attention to me, you can do whatever you like. I swear I don’t need or want someone to be my...to work for me. Before, when I said I had a big project for you, I was just making that up.”

“Really,” Miranda deadpanned. “I had no idea.”

Andrea looked sheepish. “I guess I wasn’t very convincing.”

“You weren’t,” Miranda agreed. “But while you didn’t have me convinced, you did have me baffled.”

“Oh. Well I suppose that’s something.” Andrea sighed. “God, I wish we’d had this conversation sooner. Then I could have just left you here. I never should have taken you out in public. I feel so terrible that you got hurt.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Miranda said quietly.

“I can’t imagine.” Andrea started to reach for her again, but then she hesitated and drew her hand back. “I’ll do the shopping from now on. I guess I should go out again today, I mean if you don’t want to have canned pears for dinner.” 

Suddenly, Andrea brightened. “Oh, hey. I just realized. Now that I don’t have to worry about blowing my cover, I can ask you what you want to eat. I’ve just been guessing, but now I want to buy all your favorites. You can make a list. I’ll buy anything you want.”

Miranda flashed back to Andrea asking, so earnestly, if she had any dietary restrictions. She should have known then that this woman never wanted to hurt her. “Thank you, Andrea. I’ll give it some thought.”

Andrea smiled. “This is going to be so much easier now that I don’t have to pretend.”

Miranda nodded. “For both of us.”

She felt better about her immediate situation—much better—now that she knew she wasn’t dealing with a brainwashed fascist. But at the same time, a new fear was creeping into her mind. Andrea hadn’t been able to fake it with Miranda for more than a week. The incident in the grocery depot could have been a disaster. How long could she really keep it up? What if she were discovered and brainwashed for real? 

If that happened, Miranda was fucked. They’d probably throw her back in prison, or give her to someone else who would have no compunction about chaining her up in the basement with a bucket and a bowl of slop.

But that wasn’t even the worst possibility, she realized. They could keep her right there, only instead of living with Andrea she’d be living with a monster who looked like Andrea.

That would be the worst outcome of all. Worse than prison, worse than torture at anyone else’s hands. She’s prayed it wouldn’t happen for both of their sakes.


	9. Chapter 9

After that, they lived as roommates. Andy took care of Miranda while she recovered from the attack, and then, gradually, Miranda began to do her part around the house. Cooking meals, doing laundry, straightening Andy’s cluttered shelves.

Andy never asked her to do a thing, and she always made sure that she was doing more housework than Miranda. She couldn’t change their circumstances, couldn’t remove the collar from Miranda’s neck. But she desperately wanted Miranda to feel like an equal around her.

They were both afraid all the time. They didn’t talk about it much, but Andy knew they were both intensely aware of the dystopian nightmare that existed just outside the walls of the house. She worried constantly about slipping up in public, and she rarely left the house except to acquire essentials. 

Even at home, she couldn’t escape the fear that they were living on borrowed time. Every noise outside made her jump, and she had to search the yard until she was certain it wasn’t the guards coming to take her away.

Then one evening, there was a loud, rhythmic knock on the door. Military.

Andy and Miranda were lounging in the living room reading. Miranda was freshly showered and dressed in some of Andy’s nicer pajamas—still nowhere near the standards of a former fashion editor, but better than sweats. Two mugs adorned the coffee table. Save Miranda’s collar and Andy’s bracelet, they looked nothing like owner and debtor.

“Fuck! Shit!” Andy dropped her book and stood up, flailing. “You can’t be here! You have to pretend that you’re working, or… sleeping, or… oh God, they’re going to know.”

Miranda had turned white, but unlike Andy, she kept her wits. “I’ll go to the basement. I’ll chain myself to the pipe.”

The pipe? “But—“

“No time.” Miranda was already heading to the staircase that led to the basement.

The knock came again, harder and stronger than the first. Andy poured the contents of Miranda’s mug into hers and stuffed the extra mug under a pillow. Then she answered the door.

It was a guard, decked out in weapons and armor but with a calm, almost bored expression. “Andrea Sachs?”

“Yes.” It came out raspy. She cleared her throat and said, “Yes. That’s me.”

“You have an assignment.” He handed her an envelope.

“Oh.” She looked at it. “What is it?”

But he was already turning to walk away. “I’m just the courier. The details are inside.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. Um. Good night.” Andy pushed the door closed and immediately started shaking. An assignment? What…?

But that would have to wait. Miranda was in the basement, and Andy wouldn’t allow her to stay there one moment longer than necessary. She dropped the envelope on the table and bounded down the stairs.

Miranda was wearing her uniform, the one she had been wearing on the first day. She sat next to the pipe, sullen and still, one wrist in the handcuffs with the other locked around the pipe.

“He’s gone,” Andy breathed as she rushed over.

Miranda exhaled, her posture loosening slightly. “What did he want?”

Andy unlocked the cuffs. “He gave me something. An assignment. I haven’t looked yet.”

Miranda’s forehead creased. “I see.”

“How did you change clothes so fast?” Andy asked as she helped Miranda to her feet. “How did you get your old uniform?”

“I put it down here a while ago,” Miranda said quietly. “In case this happened.”

“Oh.” Andy felt terrible. “I’m so sorry you—I mean, I’m glad it wasn’t for long, but no human being should have to be chained like this, even for a minute.”

“It was unavoidable,” Miranda said tersely. “Now let’s go see the assignment.”


	10. Chapter 10

Miranda left the cuffs on the floor. She wanted to yank the uniform off too, but felt strangely self conscious about undressing in front of Andrea. Instead, she retrieved the pajamas from behind the furnace and carried them upstairs to change in the bathroom.

Then, they sat together on one of the couches. Andrea’s hands trembled as she opened the envelope. Together, they read the first page of the document.

“Oh God. They’re giving me a job.” 

Miranda scanned the text. Andrea was being recruited to write “updates—-meaning, propaganda—-for one of the Regime communications offices. “They must know I’m a writer.”

The document indicated that she should report to a downtown office building, starting in two weeks, to work with the local communications staff.

“Fuck.” Andrea wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I can’t do this. They’ll all know I’m an imposter. They’ll know and they’ll brainwash me for real, and then...oh God, what will happen to you?” She was shaking.

“Andrea, calm down,” Miranda commanded. “Falling apart won’t solve anything. We have to think.”

Andrea looked at her with big, terrified eyes. “I can’t go to that job. I can’t.”

“Okay. What are the alternatives?” Miranda’s own pulse was racing but she was determined to remain composed for Andrea’s sake. They had to be rational.

“You can’t say no to The Regime,” Andrea said softly. “I don’t have to be brainwashed to know that.”

Miranda nodded. Refusal wasn’t an option. “Have you ever thought about getting out of the country?”

“Of course,” Andrea said. “I even had a plan once. I have an uncle who lives near the Canadian border. I thought maybe I could pretend to visit him and then find some way to get across.”

Then she sighed. “But I’m afraid to travel. It would take two days minimum. I’d have to find somewhere to spend the night. The more time I spend out in the open, out of the house, the greater the risk of someone noticing that I’m different.”

“What would it be like to travel?” Miranda asked. “I’ve seen so little of the outside world.”

“Um, it’s basically the same except that the military is everywhere. Guards at every establishment. If I screwed up once, people would see.” She shuddered. “I’m just so afraid that people would realize I’m not one of them.”

Miranda thought about this. “You look like one of them,” she said slowly, pointing to the ruby on Andrea’s forehead.

“But I don’t know how to act.”

“You know how you’re supposed to treat a slave,” Miranda said quietly. “If you could play that role convincingly, everyone would be certain that you’re one of them.”

“You mean…” Andrea frowned. “You mean, we could travel together? And... people would think I’m like them because I have a slave.”

“Not if you refuse to treat me like one,” Miranda said. “It couldn’t be like it was in the grocery depot. But if they saw you behave like a callous slave master, no one would question it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Of course you can,” Miranda said firmly. “I know you don’t want to do it. And perhaps we could stay under the radar to the point where it wouldn’t be necessary. But if it came to that…”

“So you’d come with me?” Andrea asked. “You’d try to escape with me?”

“Yes.” There was no question. “Yes, I want to get out of the country. I can’t survive here without you.” Then she added quickly, “without your protection. And if we stay...I don’t want to add to your anxiety, but you’re right to worry. You could be found out at any time, and then what would happen to me?”

Andrea grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I want you to be free. I want both of us to get out of here, far away from this hell we’re trapped in right now. If you’re willing to take the risk, to travel with me...we can try to escape.”

“Then it’s decided,” Miranda said. “We’ll go to the border. By the time you’re supposed to report for work, we’ll be long gone.”


	11. Chapter 11

Andy packed enough clothes for a week. That was her cover story, that she planned to visit her Uncle Zach for a week before starting work. She had no way to communicate with him ahead of time, thanks to the ban on electronic communications, so she didn’t have to worry about him saying no. She simply had to set off in that direction with a plausible excuse.

Miranda had to wear her uniform. They both hated it, but right now appearances were everything. They even packed the handcuffs and shackles, just in case, although Miranda rode in the passenger seat with nothing but her collar to keep her, ostensibly, from getting away.

The highways were empty and open, nothing like the congested roads she remembered from before the revolution. There wasn’t as much need to travel now that work was organized locally by The Regime.

Miranda waited in the car when they stopped for food and fuel, but eventually she had to pee. So they walked into a small restaurant together. Miranda stayed close, hands clasped and staring at the ground.

“Excuse me,” said Andy. “Where can my...slave...relieve herself?”

The cashier looked at Miranda with open disgust. “There’s a hole out back.” 

A hole? Like a porta potty?

They walked around back, but there was nothing there. Then she saw it—a hole in the ground, dug in the mud with literally nothing around it. No structure, no sanitizer. A fucking hole.

Miranda’s cheeks turned pink. “God damn it.”

“There’s no reason for this,” Andy fumed. “No reason except to humiliate you.”

Miranda whispered, almost inaudibly, “I don’t know if I can.”

“What about a cup?” Andy suggested. “Do you think you could go in the car?”

Miranda winced and then nodded.

So that’s what they did. Andy pretended to fiddle with the windshield wipers but really she was providing cover. Soon they were back on the road.

They drove until nightfall, when Andy couldn’t stop yawning. Then it was time to find a hotel.

There was no such thing as advance booking, not anymore. And there were few hotels left, sometimes just one per town. The only way to find a vacancy was to check the signs, and then show up in person and ask.

They got off the highway in a small town in what used to be Pennsylvania. Signs pointed to the only hotel in the area. Fortunately, the parking lot was only half full. That had to be a good sign.

Andy entered the small lobby with Miranda close behind. “Hi,” she said to the clerk. “We’d like a room.”

The clerk was tall and thin with angry eyes. The ruby on his forehead loomed over them as he looked them over. “One owner, one slave?”

“Yes.” Andy couldn’t wait for the day when this was all behind them. If they made it out.

He consulted a notebook. “I have a room with a king size bed.”

Shit. One bed. But what could she do? She couldn’t request a bed for a slave. “Um, okay.”

“And we can provide a cage.” He gestured at Miranda.

“A cage?” Andy blurted. What the hell?

He frowned at her. “How do you secure your slave at night?”

Andy looked him in the eye. “I chain her to a pipe in my basement.”

“Oh. Well you can’t do that here. We’ve tried it, and they messed up the walls trying to escape.” He rolled his eyes. “Damn animals. I’ll have a cage sent to your room.”

“Okay. Good.” Andy cringed as she turned away.

They unloaded their suitcases from the car. For appearances, Miranda had to drag them both into the building herself. Then they got turned around trying to find their room before they finally located the correct hallway, so Miranda was panting when they arrived.

They entered the small room to find a queen-sized bed on one side, and a metal cage on the other. It looked like something you’d use to confine a rabid dog. Thick bars and a small door that one would have to crawl into.

Miranda sucked in a breath when she saw it.

“Fuck that,” said Andy. The thought of Miranda spending one second in such a thing made her tremble with rage. “You’re not going in there. Obviously. We’ll chain the door.”

Miranda nodded. “Okay. But where…”

Right. One bed. The idea of sleeping next to Miranda made her tingle. She wasn’t sure why. But what could they do?

“I guess...we’ll have to share.”


	12. Chapter 12

The bed was comfortable, but Miranda couldn’t relax. She feared that at any moment, there would be a knock on the door and she’d have to jump to the floor and crawl into the metal cage. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

Then Andrea emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. She was clutching a skimpy hotel towel to her full breasts, her chest and cheeks flushed from the shower. Miranda’s breath caught at the sight.

Oh no, not those feelings again. Her attraction to women had been a pesky distraction for most of her career, one she had become good at pushing aside. But the sight of Andrea half-naked stirred something she couldn’t ignore. She squirmed, willing her traitorous body to stop it.

“I forgot my clothes,” Andrea said with a self-conscious little smile. “I’m not used to sharing a room.”

The towel dipped even further as Andrea hunched over her suitcase, digging for her pajamas. Then she stood up, shaking her head to clear her damp hair from her face. “I’ll be right back.”

Miranda could only manage a nod.

When she emerged again, fully dressed, Miranda had regained control of herself. “Feeling better?”

“God yes. I felt like I had car cooties all day.” Andrea walked over to the bed, almost tripping over the cage. “Fuck. I wish we didn’t have to look at that thing.”

“Agreed.”

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Andrea asked.

“I suppose… the one closest to the cage. Just in case.”

Andrea looked pained. “No. No, come on. I chained the door. You shouldn’t have to look at it. I’ll take that side.”

“Okay.” Miranda turned down the covers. 

Andrea slid into bed beside her and turned off the light.

They lay for a moment in the dark before Andrea said, “You don’t snore, do you?”

“Of course not.”

Andrea burst out laughing.

“What?” said Miranda.

“You just sounded so proper just then. I can really see you as a fashion lady.”

“Well.” For some reason, Miranda felt pleased.

“Goodnight Miranda.”

“Goodnight.”

***

Miranda ran as hard as she could, down the alley and behind the building. She searched desperately for someplace to hide, but saw nothing. Then the guards turned the corner, guns drawn. She whirled around but they were coming from all directions, converging on her.

She heard a scream. Andrea. What was she doing here? She turned and saw that a guard had her in a headlock. Andrea’s long hair whipped in the wind as she struggled against him.

“You thought you could fool us?” one of them boomed. “We saw you with your so-called slave. You’re not one of us. But you will be.”

“Let her go!” Miranda screamed. “Let her go!”

Then, strong hands gripped her. “No!”

“Miranda!” The voice was Andy’s. “Miranda, wake up!”

Her eyes popped open. Andrea was there with her, holding her… a dream. It was a dream.

“Oh god.” The tears flowed before she could stop them.

Andrea wrapped her arms around Miranda, stroking her back and soothing her with whispers. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

She collapsed into the embrace. She didn’t know how badly she needed this, needed to be held.

Then she felt Andrea’s breasts against hers. She stiffened and then drew back. Fuck. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been fully awake, and now Andrea was going to think—

“I’m so sorry,” Andrea said.

Miranda looked at her in confusion.

“For what they did to you. God, no wonder you have nightmares.”

“I’m fine. Just a dream.”

Morning sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains. She craned her neck to see the analog clock on the wall. Just past seven.

“We should get going,” Miranda said, “if we want to reach the border by nightfall.”

Andrea was still looking at her with obvious concern. “It’s okay if you need another minute. Really.”

“I don’t.” She pushed the covers off, exposing her sweaty body to the air-conditioned air. “Let’s go.”


	13. Chapter 13

Andy’s uncle lived in what used to be upstate New York. According to her map, it was about ten miles from the Canadian border. She figured they would get as close as they could and then, if anyone asked questions, she could pretend to be lost.

But as they drove closer, the worry in the back of her mind intensified. They really had no plan. It wasn’t their fault; without internet or any source of information, there was no way to assess the situation at the border without showing up in person. But what were the chances they would find some opportunity to sneak across?

Still, they had to try. There were few other options with Andrea’s work assignment coming up. If there was any chance they could escape to freedom, they had to take it now.

When they entered the small border town where Uncle Zach lived, however, Andy’s hopes collapsed. The town was swarming with military. Almost every other person they saw wore a guard uniform. Clearly, the Regime hadn’t neglected to fortify the Canadian border.

“What should we do?” Andy asked desperately.

Miranda had grown quiet as they drove through the town. “It doesn’t look good,” she said finally.

“I guess we should get as close as we can. See what it looks like.” Her stomach knotted. Driving up to the border surely meant they would have to explain themselves.

After a few more minutes of driving, the border came into view. A towering fence stretched in both directions, as far as they could see, and multiple armed guards were stationed in front of it.

Andy stopped a few yards from the border, hesitating. “We can’t...we should get out of here,” she said. “Until we think of something.” She had no idea what that would be, but the guards had already noticed them.

There was a sharp knock on the window. Andy jumped, her heart hammering in her chest. “Fuck.”

“Stay calm,” Miranda whispered. “You’re fine. Stay calm.”

Andy pressed the button that lowered the window. Before the guard could speak she said, “Hi, can you help me? I’m lost.”

The guard studied her, and then his eyes drifted to Miranda. “Ma’am, this is the border. Where are you trying to go?”

“I’m trying to visit my Uncle Zach. He lives around here, but I can’t seem to find his address.”

“What’s the address?”

Andrea consulted the sticky note on the dash and rattled it off. The guard punched it into his miniature computer, a device that only military were allowed to have.

“Oh yeah, it’s a maze,” he said. “You won’t be able to find it on your own. Just wait a moment and I’ll escort you. My vehicle's right over there.”

Andy’s hand shook as she closed the window. “Escort us? Fuck! What are we going to?”

“Shhh. It’s okay,” said Miranda.

Andrea did not see how it could possibly be okay.

“Your uncle really does live there, right?”

“Yes, but—“

“So let’s pay him a visit. This isn’t getting us anywhere. We need information, and if he lives in the town he might know something.”

“But… if we visit him. I mean, if we go to his house…”

Miranda nodded. “You’ll have to treat me like your slave. I know. But it’s our only chance.”

A military vehicle pulled ahead of them. The lights flashed, indicating that they should follow.

They drove back to the residential part of town and made several turns before they pulled up to her uncle’s house. It was a large house, almost a mansion, and well-maintained. The perfect picture of suburban tranquility, from the outside at least.

The guard waved before he departed. She forced herself to smile back. Soon, he was out of sight.

She turned to Miranda. “It’s not too late to drive back.”

Miranda looked at her steadily. “Yes it is.”


	14. Chapter 14

Andrea’s uncle was surprised to see her, which made sense. From what Miranda understood, they hadn’t had much of a relationship even before the takeover, on account of Andrea being the product of an affair. Still, he welcomed her with an embrace.

“You look well!” he said. “And you brought your slave. Would you like to lock her up in the basement?” He said it like he was asking to take her coat.

“That would be wonderful,” Andrea said, playing her part. “Thanks so much.” 

Miranda refused to meet her gaze, not out of anger but because she didn’t want Andrea to give herself away by apologizing with her eyes.

Zach led them down to a basement that was much larger than Andrea’s. Another person was there, a thin, blonde woman in a dirty uniform who was chained to a steel beam at the ankle.

“You can lock her up there,” Zach said pointing. “Next to mine.”

Miranda didn’t give Andrea time to hesitate. She sat down right next to the blonde woman and placed her arm next to the beam.

Andrea knelt down with the handcuffs, and then their eyes met. Miranda saw her agony. She wanted to touch Andrea’s hand, nod, something. But they were performing, and neither one of them could afford even a slight break in character.

Andrea left with Zach, looking miserable. Soon, Miranda was alone in the basement with the other slave, who was eyeing her warily.

This could be an opportunity to gather information, she decided. “Hi. I’m Miranda.”

The woman drew back. “You have a name?”

“Well...no.” Miranda held out her arm, revealing her tattooed number. “But that’s what it used to be.”

“Be careful,” said the woman. “I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, but here you’d get beaten for speaking it aloud.” She held out her own arm. 664425. “They call me Six. When they’re not calling me bitch or whore.”

Miranda winced. That was the kind of treatment she’d be receiving if she’d been delivered to anyone but Andrea. “I suppose you can call me Four.”

Six studied her. “Did you just get captured?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You look...healthy. You’re thin, but not starving. And your hair is clean. I thought all owners were like mine, but maybe yours is different.”

Miranda had washed her hair the previous evening at the hotel. Now that she saw the contrast with Six’s dirty hair and uniform, she realized that might have been a mistake.

“I assure you, my owner shows little mercy. I sneak food when I can, but if it were up to her I’d eat nothing but slop. She keeps me clean only because she’s sensitive to smell.”

“That explains it.” Six pulled on a strand of her greasy hair. “You’re lucky, I guess. Compared to me.”

“None of us are lucky.”

“That’s the truth.” The woman gave her a lopsided smile.

“I haven’t been up here before,” said Miranda. “Near the border, I mean. It seems like they have it well-guarded.”

“Oh yeah,” said Six. “They don’t want anyone to escape.”

“Has anyone escaped?” Miranda asked carefully.

“Why?” Six asked. “You thinking about it?”

Miranda pressed her lips together and looked away.

“There’s a way,” whispered Six. “Or at least there used to be. I heard about it from another slave, one who isn’t here anymore.”

“He escaped?”

“No. He was disobedient.”

“Oh,” said Miranda, cringing as she realizing what Six was saying.

“There’s a camp a few miles west of here, occupied by rebels. They seized a few miles of land, and they’ve been holding it with the help of the Canadian military. They’ve got access to one of the rivers that crosses into Canada. If you can get there, they’ll get you out of the country.”

“How interesting.” Miranda took a deep breath as she processed this. If Six was right, there was a way. It was hardly a sure thing, but it was something. A flicker of hope. She wished she had a way to tell Andrea.

***

After about an hour, Zach unchained Six and ordered her upstairs to work. Miranda was left alone until the evening, when Zach and Six returned.

Zach chained Six to the beam again and left a bowl of slop for both of them. “Dinner,” he said with a sneer before departing.

They had to share it, eating with their hands. Miranda didn’t eat much, partly because she couldn’t stomach it but also because she knew Six needed it more.

They also had to share a bucket to relieve themselves. Miranda prayed Andrea wouldn’t come down the stairs while she was using it. She felt utterly humiliated.

When night fell, Six lay down on the basement floor to sleep. Miranda did the same, but every part of her was cold and hurting. She could hear Six snoring faintly. How could she sleep like this?

After a while, she heard the steps creak, but no light came on. She squinted at the figure approaching in the shadows and realized it was Andrea.

“Uncle Zach is asleep,” whispered Andrea. “Come upstairs with me.” She pressed her finger to the handcuffs, opening them.

Miranda glanced at Six. She was still snoring. This was risky, but she couldn’t bear another moment on the basement floor. She followed Andrea.

Upstairs, Miranda had a chance to look around the spacious downstairs of the house. It was spotless. Six’s work, she assumed.

“Come up to the bedroom,” Andrea whispered. “I’ve got food up there.”

Miranda followed her to the guest room where her uncle had put her up. There was a full-sized bed and a decorative table, which was piled with food. Bread, fruit, even cookies.

Andrea smiled. “I told my uncle I was really hungry. He said I could take whatever I wanted.”

“Bless you. But first could I wash my hands?”

“Oh of course. There’s a bathroom across the hall.” 

When Miranda returned, she ate hungrily while Andrea recounted her day with her uncle. Apparently, her uncle had been assigned to work at one of the distribution centers in the area, overseeing an army of slaves who hauled boxes onto trucks for delivery to grocery depots. Six was his only personal slave, although he was hoping to acquire another.

“It’s so weird,” said Andrea. “He’s the same guy I remember...but he’s not. You should have seen the way he treats his slave. He’s so heartless and cruel to her, then he turns around and asks me what I’d like to drink.” She twisted the hem of her shirt. “That’s what will happen to me, if they...you know.”

“There might be a way out of the country,” Miranda told her.

“What?” Andrea’s head jerked up. “What is it?”

Miranda recounted what Six had told her. As soon as she finished, Andrea said, “We have to go. We’ll go tomorrow, first thing. I already told my uncle I wouldn’t stay long.”

“Good.” It would work or it wouldn’t, but there was no point in a delay.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while, get some sleep?” Andrea suggested. “I’ll wake you before anyone else gets up, so you can sneak back to the basement for a couple of hours. And then we’ll leave.”

“I don’t know.” The bed looked soft and inviting, but this wasn’t the time to take risks.

“Nobody will come in here, and if someone knocks we’ll pretend that I’ve put you to work.”

“Okay,” Miranda conceded. “Maybe just for a few hours.”

“Good.” Andrea smiled, but her eyes betrayed her nerves. “I’m going to try to sleep too. Tomorrow could be a big day. It could be the day.”

“I hope you’re right.” Because if the rebel camp was gone, or they couldn’t reach it, she didn’t know what they would do.


	15. Chapter 15

Andy felt something soft and silky against her cheek. Her body was snuggled against something warm. It felt good. It felt like…

Miranda. She opened her eyes to see Miranda curled up against her, her face in Andy’s chest, nuzzling Andy’s boobs.

Holy God. Heat rushed to her center. She shifted, intending to move away, and Miranda let out a contented little sigh.

It was the best feeling in the world. But it was wrong, and it was dangerous. She could see through the window that dawn was breaking. Uncle Zach could wake up any time.

“Miranda,” she hissed, nudging her shoulder.

“Mmmmm.” Miranda’s eyes fluttered open, and her lips curved into a dreamy smile. Then, all at once, she turned stiff as a rod. “Oh!” She rolled away from Andy, her cheeks flushed. “I apologize.”

“It was nice,” Andy said, before she thought better of it.

Miranda looked at her sharply, a question in her eyes. 

Andy looked away. “We should get you downstairs.”

They hurried downstairs and then down to the basement, where Uncle Zach’s other slave was wide awake and sitting up. Crap.

Andy reminded herself that under the perverse rules that governed their new society, she had every right to summon Miranda in the middle of the night for whatever she wanted. Anyway, a slave wouldn’t dare to ask.

Miranda sat down, the picture of obedience, and Andy snapped the cuffs back on without saying a word. Then she hurried back upstairs to pack.

***

Uncle Zach was sad to see them go, but he accepted her explanation—that she wanted time to prepare for her job—with little protest. By mid-morning, they were back in the car and headed west to see if the rebel camp still existed. If it had ever existed at all.

After about thirty minutes of driving, they turned a corner to find at least ten guards patrolling the road. It was a narrow road, with forest on either side, so it made little sense that there was such a heavy military presence… unless their intel was correct.

A guard held up his hand to stop them. When he approached, Andy was ready with her cover story. “Hi there,” she said in a chipper voice. “I’m trying to find the river. I used to fish here as a child, and I’d like to see it again before I leave town.”

The guard scowled. “You can’t be here. This is war zone. You need to turn around.”

“A war zone?” she asked, feigning shock. “But who are you fighting?”

“Rebels.” He spat the word. “They’ve seized a chunk of land, and we’ve been in a standoff for months. The damn Canadians are arming them. Otherwise we’d have obliterated them by now. Fucking debtors.” He shot a pointed look at Miranda, who remained perfectly quiet and still.

“Oh gosh,” said Andy. “I didn’t realize. I’ll turn around.”

He grunted, and Andy made a U-turn. As soon as they were out of sight, she turned off the engine. “This is it.”

Miranda’s eyes were wide, full of fear but also… hope. Andy understood. This was fantastic news, but so much was at stake. One way or another, their lives were about to change.

“We can’t take much,” Miranda said. “Really, almost nothing.”

Andy filled a small satchel with personal items. Makeup, a comb, a necklace that had belonged to her mother. As she closed the trunk, saying goodbye to almost all of her worldly possessions, an unexpected grief seized her. She wouldn’t miss her things, or the life she was leaving behind--that life had become hell, and she desperately wanted out. But she felt grief for what the world used to be, before the Regime, before everyone she knew had lost their freedom or their minds.

She hoped she could find a new life across the border. And while it was scary to admit, even to herself, she hoped that Miranda would be at her side.

Andy didn’t know anyone in Canada, but Miranda did. She had contacts there from her time in the world of fashion. She wouldn’t need Andy once they got across.

But the thought of losing Miranda filled Andy with sadness. If Miranda wanted to leave her behind, she would accept it of course. Miranda deserved absolute freedom, but Andy would be devastated.

But this wasn’t the time to think of the future. They were sneaking into a war, with no protection, and they both needed to focus.

They crept through the forest slowly and silently. Every time they heard the slightest sound, they froze until they were certain it had just been leaves rustling, or an animal scurrying past. Andy had a pretty good sense of direction, but after about forty minutes in the woods she was worried they were headed in the wrong direction.

Then, the trees began to thin. As they inched forward, Andy realized they were approaching the edge of the woods. Finally, they got close enough to see.

There was a stretch of empty land, and then makeshift barricades. Men and women with guns were patrolling, but they weren’t Regime. They wore no uniforms at all. They were rebels.

Andy looked at Miranda and found all of her jumbled fear and elation reflected back at her. Freedom was there, just twenty yards away.

But when she looked in the other direction, Andy could see that Regime forces were stationed on the other side of the clearing, no doubt ready to fire at the slightest incursion.

“What do we do?” Andy mouthed.

Miranda shook her head. “We don’t have much choice. We have to make a run for it. But we should wait for dark. We don’t want anyone on either side to see us until we’re all the way across.”

“Either side? But…” Then Andy realized. The ruby on her forehead. To the rebels, she would look like the enemy.

Andy nodded, a sick feeling in her stomach. She was thirsty and hungry and strung-out on adrenaline, but Miranda was right. They only had one shot. Night would be their best bet. But it was only mid-afternoon, which meant hours of long, unbearable waiting.

They sat together between two large bushes, too nervous to move or talk. It was a tight space, and their legs were touching. Andy could feel their connection pulsing through her entire body. She just hoped Miranda could feel it too.

After the sunset faded to black, they moved slowly to the edge of the woods. It was quiet, and they couldn’t see much.

“What now?”

“We run. Aim for that opening.” Miranda pointed to a gap in the barricade. “Whatever happens, don’t stop. Even if they shoot. Even if I go down. Don’t stop.”

Andy shivered. “No. No way. I’d never leave you.”

Miranda blew out a breath. “Andrea, this is no time to be sentimental. I won’t tolerate it. You need to keep running no matter what.”

“Fine.” There was no use arguing. Andy knew in her heart that she could never abandon Miranda. They would both make it, or they would both go down.

“On the count of three,” Miranda whispered. “One… two… three.”

They took off. Andy’s eyes stung and her chest was heaving; she was hungry, exhausted, and in terrible shape. But she ran with everything she had.

Soon, the gap in the barricade was just a few yards away. There was no sound or movement from the Regime side. They were going to make it. They were almost there…

“Stop!” A voice shouted. A woman appeared in front of them, gun drawn. She was aiming right at Andy.

“We’re defectors!” Miranda shouted in a raspy voice. “We’re unarmed.”

“I’m not one of them!” Andy held her palms in the air.

Then it all happened in a blur. Miranda shoved her sideways as a shot rang out. Pain seared through her as she collapsed on the muddy ground.


	16. Chapter 16

Miranda sank to her knees. “Andrea!”

Their assailant sprinted over. “Get behind the barricade! Before they return fire!” As she said it, a shot rang out from the Regime side.

“I’m not leaving without her,” Miranda screamed. Blood gushed from Andrea’s shoulder. Her eyes were open but glassy, and she was struggling to speak.

“I saw her forehead,” said the woman. “She’s one of them.”

“No she’s not!” Miranda ripped off her shirt and pressed it to the wound. “She’s my friend and she’s on our side. I need you to help me.”

The woman opened her mouth to object but then there was another boom from the Regime side. “We have to move.” She knelt down and grabbed Andrea’s other arm. Together, they dragged Andrea behind the barricade.

“They’re all brainwashed,” said the woman. “If she’s pretending to be your friend, it’s a trick. She’s trying to infiltrate the resistance.”

“No. We fled together,” Miranda choked out. “They think she’s brainwashed, but she’s not.”

She looked into the woman’s eyes, pleading with her. “Please. She needs a doctor. We can sort it out later, but please don’t let her die.”

“Fine,” the woman grunted. “I’ll get the medic. But I’m not letting her go. She’s a prisoner as far as I’m concerned.”

Miranda shook with relief. They were going to help her. Andrea would live. At that moment, it was all that mattered.

***

Miranda couldn’t stop pacing. Andrea was in the medical tent with one of the doctors, but the woman who had shot her—Bree—had insisted on debriefing Miranda in a neighboring tent.

“Sit down,” said Bree. “The doctor said she would be fine. But you look like you’re going to pass out if you don’t get some food and some rest.” She pointed to the mug of tea and the nutrition bars that she had set out for Miranda on the small table.

Miranda reluctantly took a seat. She sipped the tea first, still feeling too nauseous and shaky to eat.

“Now tell me who she is,” said Bree, “and why you think she’s not a brainwashed fascist.”

Miranda started at the beginning. How she had been presented to Andrea as a slave, but instead had been given a shower, food, and a bed. Andrea’s confession, and their plan to flee the Regime.

“I wouldn’t be here without her,” she told Bree. “She saved me from slavery. She saved my life.”

Bree shook her head. “I still find it hard to believe. I’ve never met anyone with the implant who wasn’t a loyal soldier of The Regime. But I suppose, if she behaves herself, we can turn her over to the Canadians and let them sort it out.”

“How does that work?” Miranda asked. “And when can we go?”

“You can travel any time. Tomorrow, if you like. Canada is across the water. We go back and forth by boat. The military receives refugees and processes them.”

“How many have escaped?” Miranda asked.

Bree pursed her lips. “Not many. Most of us come from the same place, from a prison south of here. We overpowered the guards, commandeered weapons and vehicles, and made it here. We’ve been holding the line ever since. Canada gives us weapons and other help. Otherwise we wouldn’t have made it this long.”

“Why stay here at all?” asked Miranda. “Why not just leave for Canada? Does it make much difference, holding this small piece of Regime land?”

“Officially, Canada isn’t at war with the Regime,” Bree explained. “The rest of the border is locked down by Regime forces, and Canada doesn’t interfere. Occupying this land gives us passage to Canada. So we can help people like you get out.”

Miranda nodded. “We’ll leave tomorrow, assuming Andrea is well enough to travel. Otherwise, I’ll stay here with her.”

Bree studied her. “You’re really loyal to your… friend. She must have treated you well.”

“She did.”

“I can give you a bed for the night,” said Bree. “But I suppose you’re not willing to go until you can see Andrea.”

“You are correct.” Miranda lifted her chin. “Until then, I’m staying right here.”


	17. Chapter 17

The first thing Andy saw was warm, yellow light. She blinked until it came into focus. It was a lamp, hovering above her head. Beyond that, she could see that she was in some sort of tent.

Then it all came back. Running with Miranda, the rebel, the gunshot. She must be in a medical bed.

She looked down and saw that her shoulder was bandaged. But when she tried to lift her other arm to touch it, her wrist snapped back. She was handcuffed to the railing. Andy looked down and saw that her ankles were shackled too. She could barely move.

Then she heard voices. The woman who had shot her walked in, accompanied by a man she didn’t recognize—the doctor? And then she saw Miranda.

Joy washed over her. Miranda was alive. She was okay. And they had made it past the barricades, to a place where her friend was no longer a slave.

Instead of her old uniform, Miranda wore simple black scrubs. The collar that had been around her neck was gone.

“Miranda,” Andy breathed. “We made it. I’m so happy.”

Miranda came to her bedside, concern etched on her face. “Andrea.” Their eyes held for a moment, communicating their mutual relief without words.

Then Miranda turned to the rebel. “Bree, are these shackles necessary? I already told you, she’s on our side. And she’s hurt.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” said the woman, apparently named Bree.

Right. They thought she was the enemy. If it weren’t for Miranda, she would probably be dead. In the end, they had saved each other.

“I’m not really one of them,” Andy told Bree. “I was never brainwashed. I hate this thing, and I want it out.” She tried to point to her forehead before she remembered the cuffs.

Bree shook her head. “I already told Miranda, I’m going to let the Canadians decide what to do with you. But as long as you’re here, the chains stay on. If you’re telling the truth then I’m sorry, but I can’t risk our security.”

“I understand.” And thought of how many days and nights Miranda must have endured in chains, in cages, at the hands of people who had the same ruby on their foreheads. Maybe Bree had once been a slave too. Andy wouldn’t complain.

Then, another rebel burst into the tent. “Incoming casualty,” he said. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Andy. “We need that bed.”

“On it.” Bree marched right over and pulled a key from her pocket. Before Andy could react, she unlocked the handcuffs and pushed her to a sitting position. “You need to get up.”

“I’m dizzy,” Andy whispered. Miranda helped her to slide down to the floor. She stood unsteadily on her feet, the shackles constraining her ankles. Miranda wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her upright.

They stood off to the side, watching silently as a wounded man was carried into the tent and placed on the medical bed in Andy’s place. The doctor rushed to attend to him while Bree hovered and peppered him with questions.

“Does it hurt?” Miranda asked quietly.

“Not yet,” said Andy. “I’m sure it will when the anesthetic wears off.”

When things calmed down, Bree walked back over to them. “Miranda, I can show you to your tent. Andy, you’ll have to stay here on the floor, unless…” Bree sighed at Miranda. “I suppose you’re going to want her to sleep with you.”

Andy’s head jerked up. What had Miranda told Bree about their relationship? What was Bree assuming? Did she think they were lovers?

“Yes,” Miranda said firmly. “She’ll stay with me.”

“Fine. Come with me.”

“Wait,” said Miranda. “Her ankles.”

Bree looked down at the shackles. “I’m letting her spend the night with you, probably against my better judgment. But the chains stay on.”

“It’s okay,” said Andy. “Really.”

Miranda stayed at her side, arm firmly around her as she shuffled out of the tent. Andy felt weak and exhausted, and the chains hurt her ankles...but she couldn’t stop smiling.

They had made it. Miranda was free. And even though she could have dropped Andy the second they crossed the barricades, Miranda was there with her, defending and supporting her. Which meant she truly cared about Andy.

Bree could be as cruel as she liked. It didn’t matter. It was still the best day of Andy’s life.

***

They were shown to a small tent with a simple mat on the ground, along with a folded blanket. Bree pointed out the facilities and then left them alone for the night.

Which meant that once again, they would be sharing a bed. As she lay down next to Miranda, Andy prayed it wouldn’t be the last time.

They lay side by side, facing each other. “I’m sorry about this,” Miranda said, indicating the shackles on Andy’s ankles. “I know how uncomfortable it is.”

Andy smiled at her. “It’s nothing. Really. They just want to be safe, and I don’t blame them.” She paused. “I’m just...thank you for letting me sleep here with you. I really appreciate it.

Miranda looked at her strangely. “Of course. I wasn’t going to let them leave you chained and bleeding on the floor of the medical tent.”

“I wasn’t sure if we’d still be friends once we escaped the Regime,” Andy admitted. “Now that you don’t need me anymore.” She hated how small and needy she sounded.

“Of course we’re still friends,” Miranda said sternly.

Andy wanted to know what that meant exactly. Would they be acquaintances? Friends who caught up over coffee? Or would Miranda consider staying with her, living with her while they started their new life? She wanted to know so badly, but found herself afraid to ask.

“We should get some sleep,” Miranda said. “Soon this will all be over.”

Over. It would be over. Andy should have felt relief—and she did. But at the thought of losing Miranda, she also felt scared and sad.


	18. Chapter 18

“Miranda! You need to get up.”

Miranda groaned and turned toward the voice. It was Bree, sticking her head through the flap in their tent.

As her eyes adjusted, Miranda realized that Bree was looking at them oddly. Then she realized that Andy was curled up against her, leaving half of the small mat unused.

Her cheeks burned as she pushed herself to a sitting position. “I’m awake.”

“Her too.” Bree pointed to Andrea, who was still fast asleep. “They’re ready to take you up the river.” Then she tossed a couple of nutrition bars into the tent. “You can eat breakfast on the way.”

Miranda roused Andrea, and soon they were trudging alongside Bree. They had to move slowly due to the shackles on Andrea’s ankles. “Can’t you take those off?” Miranda complained. “This is ridiculous.”

“I told you,” said Bree, “if the Canadians want to trust her that’s their business. As long as she’s in my camp, the chains stay on.”

“It’s okay,” Andrea said again. Miranda wondered if her lack of protest was due to guilt for all the time Miranda had spent in chains, if she saw it as some sort of penance. If she did, it wasn’t necessary.

A small boat was waiting for them at the shore, along with a man who was presumably the captain. “Are these the passengers?”

“Yup.” Bree pointed to Andrea. “This is the one I told you about. I want the chains to stay on for as long as she’s in our custody. I’d cuff her hands too, but her shoulder’s busted.”

Then Bree pressed a small metal object into Miranda’s hand. “The key.”

Miranda nodded. “Thank you.” It felt strange to thank the woman who had shot her friend, her only ally for months. But she knew how hard it had been for Bree to accept the presence of someone with an owner forehead implant. She knew what it represented to former slaves.

She hoped that Andrea could get it removed in Canada. Lord only knew what abuse she’d face in the meantime. Miranda vowed to do whatever she could to protect her and vouch for her, as long as they were together.

***

After an hour of sailing, two figures came into view. They turned out to be Canadian soldiers awaiting their arrival.

As the boat got closer, Miranda felt tears burn her eyes. For a long time, she hadn’t known if she would ever be free again, or if she would die under the control of the Regime.

She shared a look with Andrea, who was also choked up. No words were necessary. They were both overwhelmed.

“Can I remove these now?” Miranda pointed at the shackles on her friend’s ankles. “Please?”

“Fine,” said the captain. Then to Andrea, “Don’t try anything. They’re armed.”

Andrea didn’t respond. Miranda knelt down and used the key to unlock the shackles, causing Andrea to sigh with relief when her ankles were free.

As they climbed from the boat to the dock, Miranda realized one of the Canadians had his hand on his weapon. His eyes were locked on Andrea.

“She’s with us,” Miranda said, holding up her hands.

The other Canadian pointed at Andrea’s forehead. “No one with that thing on their head is with us.”

“She’s not one of them,” said Miranda. “I wouldn’t defend her if she were.”

“We’ll see,” he said. Then he said to Andrea, “you’re coming with me for questioning.”

“You’re separating us?” Miranda asked. Andrea’s eyes were wide, and she moved closer to Miranda.

“You’re going to a refugee intake center,” he said to Miranda. “She’s not.”

Before he could react, Miranda reached back into the boat for the shackles she had just removed. She snapped one of the cuffs on Andrea’s wrist and locked the other on her own.

“What the...hey!”

She pinched her fingers together and put them in her mouth, then swallowed. “Mmm. I’m afraid I’ve lost the key.”

The soldier glared. “Well now you’re both going in for questioning. So I hope you’re happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Miranda deadpanned.

“You didn’t have to do that” whispered Andrea as the guards closed in on them.

Miranda squeezed her hand. “Yes I did.”

***

“Can’t we take a break?” asked Miranda. She was tired, hungry, and thirsty, and she imagined Andrea was feeling even worse.

The interrogator, Officer Jameson, had been questioning Andrea for two straight hours. And since they were chained together, Miranda couldn’t so much as take a restroom break without Andrea.

“Fine,” he said, to Miranda’s surprise. “I need to set up equipment anyway.”

“Equipment?” Andrea asked apprehensively.

“I’m going to hook you up to brain activity sensors,” he said. “Now that I’ve got your story on the record, I want to see if you’re telling the truth.”

“She is telling the truth,” snapped Miranda. “I don’t know why you won’t believe me. Why on earth would I protect her if she were really one of them?”

Jameson shrugged. “Just following procedure. “You two can go back to the waiting room, get some drinks and snacks.”

“Fine.” She had seen the snacks on the way in, so she knew they were stale crackers, but Miranda’s stomach was growling.

They walked together to the small room adjacent to the interrogation room. Miranda poured water for both of them, since Andrea was down to one functioning arm, and they sat down with a pack of crackers.

“How’s your shoulder?” Miranda asked.

Andrea winced. “It’s okay. The pain meds are wearing off.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this before they give you medical attention.” Miranda shook her head. “Shameful.”

“Hey, it’s okay. They’re just being careful. We should just be happy. Aren’t you happy to be free?”

Miranda took a deep breath. “Of course.” She was happy, relieved, all of those things. But she would feel better when she was certain of what would happen to Andrea. They had to trust her. They had to let her go and then maybe...maybe they could stay somewhere together.

After a few minutes, Jameson reappeared. “Ready?”

“Yes, thanks,” said Andrea, standing up. She continued to be unfailingly polite about everything she’d been put through since their escape. From taking a bullet to the chains and now this.

A machine with an array of electrodes was waiting. Andrea sat patiently while Jameson placed them at different spots on her head. “These machines are unbeatable,” he said. “So don’t even try to lie. Just tell the truth and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Andrea looked nervously at Miranda.

Miranda patted her knee. “Almost over,” she said, although she had no clue if that were true.

Jameson started at the beginning. Once again, for what seemed like the fifth time, he took Andrea through everything that had happened to her since the Regime came into power. How she had escaped the brainwashing, how she had avoided detection. In between questions, he paused to examine the computer screen, sometimes typing notes.

“And how did you first come in contact with Ms. Priestly?”

“Um, a guard brought her to my house to be my... slave.” Andrea looked away, apparently still feeling shame despite none of it being her fault.

“And what was your actual relationship while Ms. Priestly lived with you?”

“Um, at first I was afraid to tell her the truth, that I wasn’t really brainwashed. That I was against the Regime. But I did what I could to make her comfortable. Then one day, there was an incident.” 

Andrea looked down on her hands. “Someone...assaulted Miranda in the grocery depot, and I started, um, crying. And then it all came out.”

“And then what happened?”

Andrea continued to avoid Miranda’s gaze. “After that, we were hiding together. And we became, um, friends. After I got my assignment—“

“Wait,” said Jameson. “Hold up.” He frowned at the computer screen, typed something and then studied it some more. “The computer is showing… are you two in a romantic relationship?”

Andrea’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Your brain activity is showing...love. Romantic love, emotional attachment. Are you involved with Ms. Priestly?”

Andrea’s cheeks flamed bright red. “I...um…”

Miranda was stunned. Could it be true? She knew Andrea cared for her, and maybe there was some element of attraction there...but could Andrea really feel love for her?

Andrea still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this. Why does this matter? What does this have to do with whether I’m a spy?”

Jameson closed the computer. “I know you’re not a spy.” He began to remove the electrodes from Andrea’s head. “I’m certain of it. Those who have been through the brainwashing, who are loyal to The Regime, feel hatred and disgust toward those they consider to be debtors. They certainly don’t feel love toward them. They aren’t capable of it.”

He looked between the two of them. “I’m guessing you two need some time alone. I’m going to go fill out some paperwork about the results of our session.”

Then he added, “Welcome to Canada.”


	19. Chapter 19

Andy wanted to run and hide forever. But there was no escape, and on top of that, she was literally chained to the woman whose gaze she was terrified to meet.

Then she heard a click. Miranda was unlocking the cuff on her wrist.

Andy looked over at last. “I thought you swallowed the key?”

“No. The soldiers were gullible.”

Andy looked away again. “I’m really sorry.”

But Miranda reached out and stroked her cheek, then gently turned Andy’s head to look at her. “Andrea. Talk to me.”

“It’s true,” Andrea whispered. “It’s true. I love you. I know that’s the last thing you need, now that you’re finally free. And I know that you don’t owe me anything, but—“

Miranda’s lips captured hers in a soft kiss that sent shivers down her spine. Andy melted into her, wrapping her good arm around Miranda’s back as she kissed back with everything she had.

They broke apart. Andy felt dizzy. “Does this mean… do you mean…” She couldn’t form the words.

“Yes, Andrea. I love you too.”

***

The Canadians put them up in a hotel for the night. The next day, they would be transferred to temporary housing for refugees and assigned caseworkers to help them to integrate into Canadian society.

The officials had been surprised when they requested to share a room, but then they’d shrugged and said at least it would save the agency money.

So once again, Andy and Miranda found themselves sharing a single bed. But this time, they were wide awake when they came together beneath the sheets.

Andy’s left arm was still immobilized from the gunshot wound, so Miranda took the lead. She straddled Andy’s hips and trailed faint, whispery kisses down her jawline while Andy groaned and squirmed beneath her. 

Then, Andy felt a hot, wet mouth on her chest. “Oh God.” She remembered the morning she had woken up to find Miranda nestled between her breasts, sound asleep. That alone had caused her body to throb with desire, but Miranda’s conscious ministrations were almost more than she could take.

Miranda’s hands worked their way into Andy’s pajama pants, and then her panties, while her tongue teased Andy’s nipple. Andy moaned and arched as a delicate finger found her clit. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she was past caring.

Then Miranda slid lower, ripping the pants and then the panties from Andy’s body. Her tongue brushed the outside of Andy’s sex, causing Andy to whimper. And then she plunged deeper, and Andy couldn’t see or hear or think. She could only feel the explosion of heat and pleasure that pulsed through her body until she climaxed with a guttural moan, then flopped back, panting and trembling as relief rippled through her.

“Oh God, Miranda. Oh God. I love you. Fuck. Oh God.”

Miranda returned to And’s side with a satisfied smile. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Andy sighed, still catching her breath. “I think I can imagine.” Then she said, “God, I wish I weren’t injured. I just want to… you know, ravish you.” She paused. “But I still can. I mean, I can try.”

Miranda placed a single finger to Andy’s lips, silencing her. “Right now you need to rest and heal. We’ll have plenty of time for that in the future.”

Did she really mean that? Could Andy dare to hope?

“You mean… you want to stay with me? You want us to be together in Canada?”

Miranda brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Yes, Andrea I want us to be together. We can make a life here. Now that we both have our freedom.”

Freedom. They really were free—safe from chains and from brainwashing. But Andy couldn’t help but think of everyone they had left behind. “I want to find some way to oppose the Regime from here. I don’t know if that’s writing, sending money, raising awareness. We’ve been so deprived of information that I don’t even know what the global response has been. I don’t know where to start. But once we get settled, I want to do something.”

Miranda nodded. “And I will be right there with you.”

“Do you think the resistance will ever succeed?” Andy asked. “If we’ll ever be able to go back home and find out what happened to our loved ones?”

“I know it will,” said Miranda. “There’s a reason they had to brainwash all of you so-called owners. There’s a reason they’re afraid of their own designated ruling class. They know that if people still have their humanity, they will resist.”

Andy wrapped her good arm around Miranda, and they held each other close.


	20. Epilogue

“Ms. Priestly? You can see her now.”

Miranda jumped to her feet. Finally. She followed the doctor down the hallway and into Andrea’s hospital room.

Andrea looked drugged and dazed in the hospital bed, but she greeted Miranda with a dreamy smile. Her head was wrapped in a gauze bandage.

As Miranda stepped closer, she saw it—the ruby implant, sitting in a metal tray next to the bed.

“How do I look?” asked Andrea.

“You look beautiful,” Miranda said. “Beautiful and stoned.”

Andrea giggled. “I do feel a little stoned.”

Miranda smiled. “And now we can go out in public without ten scarves wrapped around your head.”

Andrea gestured to the implant. “I’m just glad it will be used for good.”

Andrea’s implant had turned out to be the only one that had ever made it out of the country intact. That made it invaluable to the Canadians, who had been wanting to infiltrate the Regime for some time. Now that it was out of Andrea’s head, it would be delivered to scientists so that replicas could be produced.

“Maybe…maybe this will be the beginning of the end for the Regime,” said Andrea.

“I hope so.”

“She’ll be a bit woozy for the rest of the day,” said the doctor. “Will you look after her?”

Miranda nodded at Andrea. “Always.”

“We live together,” Andrea added. “We’re a couple.” She spoke with so much pride that Miranda felt heat in her cheeks.

“Well, you’re lucky to have her,” he said to Andrea. “She’s quite fierce when it comes to your health. The nurses had to—”

“I don’t think she needs to hear about the nurses and their inadequate communication,” Miranda snapped.

“Oh… okay.” The doctor backed away and quickly left the room.

“You’re being scary again,” Andrea said playfully.

“Hmm. Must be the heels.” Now that she was free to wear makeup, power suits, and heels again, she dressed up nearly every day—despite not having a job yet. It made her feel like herself.

“It’s not the heels. You seemed…powerful from the moment we met.” She squeezed Miranda’s hand. “The Regime never took that away from you.”

Miranda squeezed back. “And try as they might, they couldn’t turn you into a fascist.”

“Only because I managed to sneak past them.”

“But that’s all it took. You were too clever for them, Andrea. And you were brave. You took a risk, and because of that we’re free.”

Andrea’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s because of both of us. I never would have had the courage to flee the country without you. You’re so strong, Miranda.”

“We’re both strong,” Miranda said, looking her in the eyes.

“Still...I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Miranda leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Andrea’s lips. “You’ll never find out.”

~ The End ~ For more of my writing, check out <http://quinnivins.com>


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